


Zuko and his Uncle in Ba Sing Se

by PinkCripps



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: ATLA Season 2, Ba Sing Se, Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Incest, Iroh Acting as Zuko’s Parental Figure (Avatar), Kissing, M/M, Zuko/Iroh - Freeform, Zuroh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24797980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkCripps/pseuds/PinkCripps
Summary: Prince Zuko and Uncle Iroh find domestic moments in Ba Sing Se. They find time to slow down. They find...each other.Romantic/parental pairing between Zuko and Uncle Iroh. It’s a weird hybrid. Do enjoy.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 145





	Zuko and his Uncle in Ba Sing Se

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by that scene where Zuko is lying on a couch while his uncle makes tea in their little apartment in Ba Sing Se. The domestic-ness just hit me like a train. I had to write fanfic.  
> Just to preface, everything about this paring is incredibly wrong. I enjoy playing around with it but ultimately let the depravity stay in the fanfiction. =)

Zuko groans and screws his eyes shut tighter as he feels himself being shaken from sleep. He attempts to turn away from the disturbance, but it is no use for at that moment, said disturbance gains a voice.

“It is time to rise and meet the day, Prince Zuko.” Of course the sound of his torment took the form of his uncle. It was always Uncle.

Zuko, still not entirely aware, mumbles something incoherent and dismissive-sounding. He desperately tries to fall back into the dream about giant turtle-ducks he’d been having, but the voice starts talking again.

“We have been asked to come to work early today. Zuko, Nephew—“ it nagged.

It was fruitless for Zuko to pretend he was still asleep. He had already forgotten what his dream had been about, and the sun was resting at just the right angle on his eyes.

“Yes yes, I’m awake, Uncle,” he groused. He glared at the smile on the old man’s face, but the glare was not very effective under soft sheets and bedhead.

He sat up, leaning back on his hands, hoping Uncle Iroh would take him more seriously. But all the man did was reach out a hand and ruffle Zuko’s hair.

“Good morning, Nephew. We should cut your hair,” he said, as had become their ritual in the mornings.

“Good morning, Uncle. No, we shouldn’t,” Zuko said, giving his customary reply.

He was not completely sure how it started. One morning, Uncle just started weaving his hand through Zuko’s hair, and Zuko never asked him to stop.

The argument at first had only been a distraction. A distraction from the fact Zuko enjoyed feeling the affection from the man when he touched Zuko’s hair, when he gave Zuko affectionate touch at all. It was protective. Caring. Loving. Feelings that made Zuko uncomfortable.

_“Uncle, you don’t have to say it.”_

_“I think of you as my own son.”_

Zuko felt his eyes begin to sting. He abruptly pushed up off the ground and prowled into the bathroom to shower.

When he came back out, steam rising from his bare shoulders and pants a little wet, there were two bowls of rice waiting on their small table.

Zuko took a seat next to his uncle, and together, they began to eat.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, and the sounds of the city waking up permeated the walls. The smell of rice invaded his senses, and Zuko ate heartily. The table felt sturdy underneath his elbows, like his Uncle, and the world felt alive.

“Here is your shirt,” the man yelled as a soft projectile was launched at Zuko. “And make sure your hair is dry!”

“I know,” Zuko growled. Uncle Iroh worried too much.

Soon enough they were ready, and they made their way to the tea shop.

Civilization vied for their attention as shopkeepers advertised, children shrieked, and carts rumbled. Zuko snarled as a kid came too close to running her head into his elbow. He wished they didn’t have to walk, but they didn’t have enough money for anything else.

It had been difficult to adjust to living in the city after existing as wanderers for so long. There were deadlines to meet, rules to follow, confined spaces and close-minded people.

But as he snuck covert glances at Uncle Iroh, he realized it had been worth it. He—they were happier than they had ever been, strangely enough.

Zuko was not sure how long it would last. In his life, good things never lasted long. But he would be damned if he didn’t enjoy the most of it he could.

The sound of Uncle Iroh unlocking the shop door broke his stream of thought.

“6:30 is too early for anyone to be awake,” Zuko grumbled once more.

“Then it is good this is not a regular occurrence,” Uncle replied. “Come, we have to manage the shop the whole day today. Perhaps you need a grounding cup of tea for strength.”

“Ugh,” said Zuko.

And so their workday began. Zuko went from table to table, taking orders from the early-morning customers.

He didn’t usually work mornings, so it was strange to see how much calmer than the evenings it was. The shop was small and quiet. Many people were not even fully awake, and a good majority simply rushed in, got their tea, and rushed out.

“Two jasmine and one peppermint,” Zuko barked to his uncle in the back. Uncle Iroh was in his element, carefully maintaining the temperature of each pot and managing them skillfully, ensuring each cup came to perfection. He was like a—er—a master _tea_ bender?

Zuko cringed to himself. Yeah, he’d once again be keeping his joke to himself. Uncle would just laugh at him, not the joke.

A bell jingled, and Zuko rushed out to greet their new customer.

Managing shop was tiring work, and as noon passed, Zuko felt his concentration slipping.

He stood watch in the kitchen now, making tea so that Uncle Iroh could have his lunch break. Zuko stared into the pot, waiting for the water to boil.

Steam began to form vague, half-forgotten images and strange faces. The rest of the world appeared to blur and shift along with it. He retreated into his mind, wandering the strange thoughts that occupied it. He slowly grew unaware of what was in front of him.

That was, until the sound of bubbling water startled him. Unthinkingly, Zuko grabbed the pot and spun to the other side of the kitchen in a move that wasn’t completely smooth. Too late, he realized neither of his feet were touching the ground.

He had tripped while holding a pot of boiling tea.

The hot water seemed to rise in front of his face in slow motion. _Is this how I scar myself a second time?_ Sluggish adrenaline clogged his limbs.

But then Zuko felt his shirt catch onto something. Or rather, someone had caught onto his shirt.

Even before he turned around he knew who it was.

“Thank you, Uncle,” Zuko intoned formally. Because he couldn’t stand the worried look in the man’s eyes or the large hand still tightly fisted in the back of Zuko’s shirt.

“Nephew, you must be more careful,” Uncle chided. “You almost—“

“It’s not a big deal,” he hurried to excuse. “I’m just tired. We woke up way too early today.”

“Even so, I would not like to see you get another scar.” The man released his hand from Zuko’s shirt and used it to cup Zuko’s face instead. Uncle’s thumb brushed his scar, and he foolishly leaned into the touch.

He peered into the older man’s creased face. _Uncle Iroh worried too much._ So Zuko plastered a smile on his face and joked, “I guess this goes to show you’re the real master tea bender here.”

It worked. Uncle released him and let out a loud guffaw. Zuko’s face burned with embarrassment, but also a little pleasure.

“That was one of the worst jokes I’ve ever heard!” Uncle Iroh exclaimed. “Come, Nephew. You can take a short nap while I manage the store.”

“But Uncle—“ Zuko objected, reddening even further.

“Go, Zuko,” Uncle commanded, riskily using his real name. “You are no good to anyone tired and spilling tea. Only twenty minutes, though!”

The concern in Uncle’s voice caused a warm feeling to enter his heart, unbidden. For once, he didn’t resist it and allowed himself to be led to a chair and put to sleep like a child.

He folded his arms on the table in front of him and rested his head in his arms. The last thing Zuko was aware of before drifting off to sleep was a warm hand on his shoulder.

He slept with a small smile on his face.

* * *

Iroh let out a relieved sigh as he closed the shop door. It had been a long day, and even he was too tired to be interested in the allure of the marketplace and its products.

And if _he_ felt like that, he could only imagine how much more impatient his nephew was to go home. He let out a small chuckle and beckoned Zuko to follow him.

The day meandered toward sunset. As they walked home, Iroh noted stalls and shops closing for the evening. A father flung his giggling daughter up onto his shoulders. A husband and wife shared a sweet kiss as they reunited.

He glanced from the side to his nephew, who had a mild look on his face. Iroh would almost even call it content, strange as that may be. Zuko...had never a chance to simply be content before.

But now he did. And it slightly eased a pain Iroh had been holding: the pain of seeing someone you take care of suffer, and not being able to do anything about it. Zuko had suffered too much for a boy his age.

But he would dwell on these thoughts no longer. They were fed, clothed, and safe. But most of all...

”I intended for us to arrive home _together_ , Nephew.” Iroh smiled, if a bit chidingly. “So stop dragging your feet; you know we are almost there.” 

The first thing Zuko did when they entered their apartment was flop onto a couch.

Iroh didn’t blame him. If he were younger, he would have done much the same thing. But they still had one last job to take care of.

“Up, Zuko. We still need to make dinner.”

“Mph,” Zuko said in reply.

Iroh waited, but apparently that was all Zuko wanted to convey.

He walked over, ready to give his nephew a rough shake and a fair helping of cold water. But then he paused.

The image of Zuko almost burning himself today flashed in his mind.

He took a step back from the already-dozing teen and glanced at their small pile of money. He might be going too soft on the boy, but perhaps...perhaps it was okay for one day.

Iroh once again left the apartment, and when he returned half an hour later, he held a box with fragrant steam coming out the sides.

“Get up, Zuko!” he ordered in that voice he knew Zuko would listen too.

“What?” Zuko yelped, sitting up quickly. “Uncle?”

“Come here. I have something special.”

“Wha,” Zuko repeated, still shaking off the remains of sleep. The boy trudged to their round dining table, where Iroh had placed the box.

He opened it to reveal spicy curry and jasmine rice, still hot and steaming.

“Uncle...” Zuko said, staring at the contents of the take-out.

“I grew tired of eating your dry fish and half-cooked rice. So I went out and bought some real food.”

Zuko looked up at him with an unreadable expression on his face. “I haven’t had spicy food in so long.”

 _Oh. Oh no._ Of course the food would remind his nephew of...home. Of his failures and trials and longings. What had Iroh been thinking?

But then Zuko reached out to serve himself a plate. As he did so, he glanced up with sincere eyes. “Thanks, Uncle Iroh.”

And just like that, all the anxiety fled his body as quickly as it had come.

They enjoyed a quiet meal. The colors of the sunset painted everything with brilliant hues of red and gold.

Red and gold.

Long after they had finished eating, they simply sat at the table. Zuko stared out the window. Iroh studied his nephew unabashedly.

Red. Dark hair glinted burgundy in the tinted light. Zuko’s profile was a study in shadows and contour. With his definite looks of a noble, the boy was handsome even with his scar, though he didn’t know it.

Zuko, probably feeling the sensation of being watched, turned to face him.

Gold. Golden eyes glowed unusually bright in the darkness, studying him back.

Iroh felt a tumult of feeling stir in his soul as they held gazes. He usually considered himself a levelheaded old man, but Zuko had always the strange ability...

Distant music from a nearby party played, and a peculiar compulsion came over Iroh at that moment. It would be unusual, but perhaps that matched the way the day had been going.

Finally looking away, he asked, “Zuko, do you know of the traditional Fire Nation dances?”

“Traditional Fire Nation dances? But we don’t dance,” Zuko stated, yet curiosity bled through his voice.

That decided it. Iroh stood up and went to the middle of the room, holding out a hand. “Come, Zuko. It’s part of our culture. I will show you.”

It was almost completely dark now, except for a single candle lit on the table. Zuko’s expression was hidden in the shadows, but he too got up and walked towards his uncle. He stopped a few feet away, clearly unsure of what to do.

Iroh fixed that swiftly, taking his nephew’s hands and holding them within his own. Zuko’s palms were warm, and a bit sweaty. He lightly rubbed the boy’s fingers, feeling the callouses on them.

The music outside turned lively. Iroh grinned.

“Just follow the movement. It’ll flow naturally,” he assured.

Then he pulled away suddenly, increasing his grip on their hands so that they didn’t slip. He smirked at how obviously Zuko was taken off guard.

Iroh moved his arms to the right, taking Zuko with him. The boy tripped but followed, letting out a small gasp.

Not giving his nephew much time to regain his balance, he pulled away again and swung his arms to the left.

This time, Zuko was more prepared and followed smoothly. They were now to each other’s lefts, arms pulling them close.

His nephew’s eyes lit up as he caught onto the pattern. Good. He always was a smart boy.

This time, Zuko followed as he once more stretched their arms and pulled them apart then to the right.

They continued like this, pulling away and pulling close in an imitation of the very cycle of life.

Life was getting boring. It was time to spice it up a bit.

Iroh let go of one of Zuko’s hands and tried not to look too amused when his nephew stumbled, having put too much power into pulling away.

When they flung back, Iroh recapturing Zuko’s hand, the boy was giving him a heated look. And in it showed some of the sheer tenacity and defiance that had kept his nephew alive for so long.

They danced, a challenge, a game in each of their steps. He had the advantage of prior experience, but he had not danced in many years, and Zuko was creative.

His nephew lifted their arms, and Iroh found himself being led into a spin. They flung apart one final time before being brought chest-to-chest.

“Wow,” Zuko panted as a crooked grin made its way onto his face, “it’s like fighting, but without the danger.”

Iroh let out a wheezy chuckle. Trust his nephew to compare war to art, and find it a good thing. “Forgive an old man for not keeping up. I have not danced in a long time.”

“You’re not that old, Uncle,” Zuko said simply.

The candle had stopped burning, and now only the moon illuminated their still forms. They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity. The band from the party had stopped playing, and now the only music was the chirp of grasshoppers and the sound of their heavy breathing.

Zuko let go of his hands. But instead of stepping away, he rested his arms on Iroh’s shoulders. Iroh’s hands automatically fell to his nephew’s waist.

The uncertainty he felt showed even on Zuko’s face. Yet Iroh did not let go. Didn’t want to.

Zuko shifted his weight from one foot to the other, gently moving Iroh along with him. The moonlight gave his nephew an otherworldly glow. Iroh wondered if this were real, or if it were just a dream.

“Mom used to dance with me like this,” Zuko explained, warm breath fanning across his face. “Not really dance. Just...sway.”

The boy’s quiet voice inexplicably caused his heart to speed up, in a different way than the dancing had.

Zuko had come into his life, a whirlwind of anger and confusion. The boy stirred up emotions in him he thought had died with the death of his own son. And then some.

And those extra emotions were what terrified Iroh.

Zuko was staring so intently into his eyes, Iroh was surprised his neck didn’t break. Their faces were so close their noses almost brushed.

And then, they did. Iroh sucked in a breath of air. He could feel the heat of a blush radiating off his nephew’s face. Yet, Zuko brushed their noses again, this time more purposefully.

There was something in the air. Not new, but newly recognized.

Zuko hesitantly rested their foreheads together, allowing Iroh to look directly into his nephew’s pure, golden eyes.

And all of a sudden, Iroh felt the need to talk. To explain away the bizarre, _unholy_ feelings—

“Prince Zuko, what are we doing?” Iroh asks, a tremble in his voice.

“Uncle...” Zuko murmurs.

But instead of finishing his thought, he shifts and brushes his lips along Iroh’s cheekbone. His nose. The corner of his mouth.

The feather-light kisses send trembles through his body. They had stopped swaying long ago, pretenses of a dance long forgotten.

Trepidation floods every crevice of his being. How would they go on? How could they come back from this?

“I don’t know, Uncle, please...” Zuko whispers.

And at the soft plea, all his restraint melts.

Iroh pulls the boy in and firmly presses their lips together.

The kiss stops as soon as it had begun, but as he pulls his lips back, Zuko follows immediately with his.

This kiss lasts longer than the first, and it is deeper. _Arms resting on his shoulders. Hands at his nephew’s waist. A fiery ball of feelings between them._

Feelings they needed to talk about.

Yet he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he weaves his hand through his nephew’s hair, the movement an echo of their early mornings.

Iroh didn’t want to face what they were doing just yet. He allowed his doubt to be swept away in the electric rush, his concerns overshadowed by the sound of his heart beating double time in his chest.

But eventually, Zuko comes up for air, panting heavily.

There are no words for a long moment.

Then Zuko breathes, “Uncle Iroh, I—“

“Zuko, what do you want?” Iroh pleaded.

Zuko, with his disrupted childhood, had never the chance to involve himself in romantic entanglements. Iroh had been attracted to women, but after his wife died, he hadn’t truly been interested in anyone else.

Until now. What they were exploring, it was new and dangerous to both of them. A baffling light in the darkness of new moon.

“Uncle, I’ve depended on you these past three years,” Zuko admitted. “How could I not have grown to—to...”

“You don’t have to say it,” he said, taking pity on the boy.

Yet, the words seemed only to make the boy stand more determinedly. “I love you.”

_Such frank words. Such an honest stare._

Iroh pushed Zuko into the table, reclaiming his lips with a scary intensity. “Agni, and I love you,” he sighed between kisses. “And in some ways I shouldn’t, yet there’s something about you, Nephew...”

Iroh lightly bit Zuko’s lower lip and the boy _melted_ below him. He let out an answering moan.

“I-I think maybe we need each other, Uncle.” Golden eyes stared at him in wonder, in conviction. “It’s been just us against the world for so long.”

 _For too long,_ Iroh thought. _But, maybe a little longer would not be so bad_.

He moved to press a delicate kiss to the soft side of his nephew’s neck. “It’s late. Let us sleep, my little prince.”

Zuko let out a light snort, but allowed Iroh to take his hand and lead them away.

Together. Always together.

* * *

Jet shakily put down his binoculars. He had seen enough for today.

**Author's Note:**

> I recently watched Avatar, and I was amazed by the sheer shortage of Iroh/Zuko fic on AO3. Like, I guess y’all in this fandom have self-control lol.  
> I’ve decided to call the ship **Zuroh** (Irko is already a thing for their platonic relationship)  
> Update: Because I’m a obsessive kind of person, I made a [Zuroh Fic/Art Masterlist](https://docs.google.com/document/d/12VP3QCvnAJIlq4xNoO0u5RuS0U5z1fxnV3_EMl4Bucw/edit).I spent way too much effort on it pls help.  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. =)


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